Hot for Teacher
by nothingbutgoneness
Summary: Teacher!Blaine and HornyStudent!Kurt. I haven't updated in forever and I apologize.
1. Chapter 1

**Hot for Teacher**

Blaine Anderson was the most popular teacher at Dalton Academy.

This was a relatively well-known fact among the student body and faculty of the all-boys school, and it was fairly well-deserved. Mr. Anderson was the youngest teacher at the school at twenty-five; Madame Deschanel, the French teacher, was three years his senior. He himself called Dalton his alma mater, and was a Warbler to boot—everyone knew that the Warblers were like rock stars at that school. His subject, Advanced Placement English Language and Composition, was by no means thrilling to the vast majority of the juniors he instructed, but his age and his passion for English allowed him to connect to his students and thus keep the class average at a promising B minus.

Because of his popularity, Mr. Anderson quickly and easily became the go-to teacher when students needed a guiding hand or homework assistance or help getting out of a sticky situation. He even acted as faculty advisor to the Warblers, though he respected tradition and allowed the group to run itself, stepping in only when major crises arose, or when the council needed a signature. He took the responsibilities of these roles quite seriously, but also with great pride. He never turned away a boy who asked for help, and he never pushed the student-teacher boundary.

Until Kurt Hummel showed up.

Kurt Hummel walked into Blaine's second period AP Lang class three minutes late on the first day of the second quarter. He scanned the already seated students for _something_ and then turned away, decidedly disinterested.

Until he saw Blaine Anderson.

That man was utterly _fine. _His overly gelled hair had been slicked back, and his hazel eyes danced as he copied something onto the chalkboard behind his desk at the front. He wore an honest-to-God three-piece suit, bowtie and all—and it fit him perfectly.

Licking his lips slightly, Kurt approached the desk, holding a slip out before him. "Excuse me, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine froze in the middle of transcribing a passage from _The Scarlet Letter_. The voice that had just sounded from behind him clearly came from an angel, of that he was sure; what other creature could speak so lightly, as though it possessed bells instead of vocal chords?

Blaine turned to greet the speaker, and was astonished to find not an angel, but what could only be an agent of the devil. Pure black skinny jeans hugged every line of his ankles, calves, knees, and thighs, but barely his hips. The plain white long-sleeved tee he wore clung to his supple body just as tightly, his biceps fighting to break free of the constriction. Blaine just _knew _that incredible muscles hid evilly beneath that burgundy vest. As the demon's arm raised the slip of paper, it lifted the hem of the shirt, revealing porcelain skin and a peek at the waistband of Calvin Klein boxers.

Swallowing back desire and lust and thoroughly inappropriate thoughts, Blaine asked, "May I help you?"

Kurt smiled as he watched a thousand emotions rage in those honey orbs: want, denial, disbelief, confusion, need, panic, fear. "Yes. I'm the new transfer student? Kurt Hummel, sir. I'm sorry I'm not in uniform; I'm still getting acclimated to my dorm."

The boy was completely polite, but something about him threw Blaine off. Maybe it was the smile; those red lips smirked as if they knew exactly what that body was doing to the teacher.

"Ah, yes. Kurt." Speaking the name sent chills down Blaine's already shaky spine. He gently tugged the paper from Kurt's delicate hand. "Welcome to Dalton then, Kurt. You can sit..." He turned to face the class, suddenly remembering that he and the alabaster beauty were not the only two in the classroom; twenty other teenagers watched him from their seats, some bored, some amused, some intrigued by the new kid in their midst. With a silent groan, Blaine realized that the only open seat stood directly in front of his desk: first row, center column.

Blaine didn't have to delegate this place to Kurt, for the teenager figured out the situation on his own. "I'll sit there, Mr. Anderson," he said easily, readjusting the satchel hanging from his shoulder.

As he watched his new student walk away, Blaine could have sworn he saw him _wink_.

Kurt settled into his seat as Blaine resumed his work at the board. He removed a few sheets of paper and a pen from his satchel and laid them upon his desk. Then he laced his long, slender fingers together and watched Blaine's impressive ass shake and stretch as it moved.

Finally, Blaine finished and addressed the class. "Okay, boys, pull out your close reading of the last chapter." The boys groaned in unison, reaching into their bags and binders to pull out the thin paperbacks. Predictably, Kurt did not follow suit, but raised his hand to catch his teacher's attention.

As though he didn't already have it.

"Yes, Mr. Hummel?"

The smirk returned; Kurt rather enjoyed being addressed so formally. "I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't a copy of the novel. Could you lend me one?"

Kurt's nineteenth-century British diction caught Blaine off-guard. "Uh, sure, yeah, uh, here, take mine." He reached down and grabbed his book from his desk, tossing it gently to Kurt, who caught it lithely. "Have you read _The Scarlet Letter _yet, Kurt?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. I read it some time ago, and several times since. I truly appreciate Hawthorne's emphasis on the natural, human urges the body has, and the _sensuality _of just giving in."

Blaine positively _throbbed _as Kurt spoke with such raw passion. As he did so, the student twirled his pen between his ungodly digits, and Blaine couldn't help but wonder what else those fingers were good for.

"Excellent," Blaine choked, remembering himself after a moment. "Well you should have no trouble following along, then."

The rest of the lesson passed with relative ease. Blaine's stuttering died down as he learned to look anywhere but at Kurt, and Kurt decided that Mr. Anderson was by far the hottest man he'd ever seen.

When the bell rang, everyone was relieved—none more so than Blaine—except for Kurt, who was rather disappointed to have to move on to Advanced Placement Chemistry. He allowed his classmates to rush out before approaching the teacher's desk. "Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine looked up, nervous once more. "Yes, Kurt?"

Kurt smiled brightly. "I was wondering if I could schedule a conference with you for sometime this week? I'd like to get caught up on the work pertaining to _The Scarlet Letter _so I can better participate in class discussions."

If he wasn't so distracted by the way Kurt's blue-gray eyes flashed as he spoke, Blaine would have been impressed by Kurt's propriety and maturity. Blaine _knew _that he should say no; the last thing he needed was one-on-one time with the magnificent creature before him. That knowledge led him to imagine the two of them _one-on-one_, and he _couldn't _say yes.

But Blaine Anderson never turned away a student who needed help.

"Sure," Blaine squeaked, quickly coughing to hide his embarrassment. "When would be convenient for you?"

Kurt's smile widened. "Well, sooner would be better...does today work for you?"

Blaine's heart absolutely stopped beating.

Today.

Him.

Kurt.

Alone.

This was bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

He should say no. Invent a meeting. Fake an illness. Remember a phony appointment.

But never say yes.

"Sounds great."

Kurt was thrilled—_far more thrilled than a student should be about a conference with a teacher_, Blaine thought. With a clap of his hands, Kurt said, "Fantastic! I'll come after school!" He waved goodbye and sauntered—_sauntered!_—from the room.

Blaine groaned and permitted his forehead to slam upon the desk, trying not to hear the double meaning of Kurt's last sentence.

He was so royally screwed.

* * *

><p>The final bell released the students at three o'clock. A few of Blaine's last-period kids asked if they could stay in his room to hang for a while. Normally, he'd have said yes, for it was a fairly common occurrence for a gathering of boys to congregate in his room and help each other with homework or discuss sports or girls for a bit, especially before Warblers practice at four-thirty. However, due to his idiotic consent to a meeting with Kurt, he had to decline. He felt terribly guilty at turning the boys away; he didn't do it often.<p>

Fifteen minutes after the bell, a soft knock sounded at the door, which promptly opened. Kurt's head peeked into the room and, seeing that it was devoid of other teenagers, broke out into a huge grin. "Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson." He danced fully into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. When he was sure the teacher wasn't looking, he locked it with a near-silent click.

Blaine looked up from an essay. "Hello, Kurt." He tried not to let his eyes trail down those never-ending legs or linger on that pronounced collarbone, but they seemed to have a mind of their own. "This shouldn't take too long. The new quarter just began, after all, and—what are you doing?"

As Blaine had been speaking, Kurt slowly moved closer until he perched on the edge of the desk near Blaine, facing the chalkboard. "Nothing." His smooth, delicate fingers traced the back of Blaine's hand lightly. "Go on."

Blaine lost himself in the unbelievable _feel _of Kurt—but only for a moment. He yanked his hand away. "Mr. Hummel, what do you think you're doing?"

Smirking once more, Kurt bent down to whisper in Blaine's ear. "Hopefully you."

Blaine leapt up from his seat. "No way, Kurt. You...are a _student_. A minor! I'm your teacher—your _adult _teacher. This is illegal."

"So?" Kurt stepped forward slowly, much as a predator stalks its prey. He backed Blaine into a corner—not the corner by the door, the teacher noted with mixed horror and pleasure. "I see how much you want me," Kurt continued, his hands fiddling with Blaine's hot pink bowtie. "I can see your eyes fighting to not look at me—at my _body_." With that word, Kurt pressed every inch of himself against Blaine, eliciting a choked groan from the man. "Just let go, Mr. Anderson. Follow Hawthorne's lessons. Our animalistic, sinful tendencies are natural. Give in to them."

Before Blaine could protest further, Kurt dropped to his knees, making short work of Blaine's belt buckle and zipper. In a flash, Blaine's trousers had pooled around his ankles, and Kurt pulled Blaine's rock hard cock from his boxers. "See?" he murmured against the pulsating member, the vibrations of the words rocking Blaine's entire body. "You know what you want. Don't let society get in the way. Let me take care of you."

Then he swallowed Blaine whole.

Blaine threw his head back, slamming into the wall. He groaned as Kurt's tongue undulated around his cock, the wet heat of the boy's mouth destroying every last inch of resistance left. The tip of Kurt's tongue tickled the tip of Blaine's cock, and the teacher's hips bucked, slamming into Kurt's throat. Kurt didn't even gag. He merely hollowed out his cheeks and sucked as though the cock was releasing pure oxygen.

Blaine wailed in ecstasy, his eyes screwed shut and his hands weaving through Kurt's unbearably sexy hair. The things that boy could do with his mouth astonished Blaine. He'd received some memorable blow jobs in his life, but none like Kurt's. He could feel the hot, tight coil below his navel, and he tugged Kurt's hair as gently as he could in warning.

But Kurt knew all too well what was about to happen, and encouraged it. He pressed his tongue to the vein running along the underside of Blaine's cock. He smiled at the gasp that followed. He continued to suck Blaine harder then he'd ever sucked before, only now he reached a hand up to stroke the teacher's balls, laughing as Blaine's whole body shook.

That did it. The feeling of Kurt's laughter around his cock pushed Blaine over the edge. He came fast and hard into Kurt's mouth and Kurt swallowed every last drop.

Kurt cleaned his face and tucked Blaine gently back into his boxers. Tugging Blaine's pants back up, he redressed the speechless, breathless teacher. When he had finished his ministrations, he stood and placed his mouth next to Blaine's ear. "You know what, Mr. Anderson?" he breathed. "I think I'm all caught up." He pressed his lips against Blaine's briefly, and then whipped around, ass swinging as he danced to the door. As he picked up his discarded satchel and unlocked the door, he called over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow, sir!"

Then he was gone.

Blaine sunk to the floor, head falling into his hands. What had he _done_? He'd allowed a student, an underaged student, to give him a blow job. He'd essentially had _sex_ with someone very much off-limits.

He was a felon.

So why did thought of his entire future going up in flames inexplicably turn him on?

_Kurt. _That damn boy and his damn body and his damn words and his damn hands and his damn tongue. It was all his fault. How was Blaine supposed to refuse that? How was anyone?

_See you tomorrow, sir. _Oh God, how could he expect to teach the next day when the curse of his existence sat less than ten feet away, smirking and winking and twirling that damn pen in his fingers?

Blaine Anderson was the most screwed teacher at Dalton Academy.

* * *

><p>Hi there! I thought I'd make a note here that while this is not my first time writing smut, it <em>is <em>my first time publishing it. For those of you who know me from _A Very Klaine Summer _or _The Moments We Remember, _hiya! For those of you who are only just finding me because you were looking up Klaine smut (obviously not judging, since I write it), welcome to my head!

I haven't decided if I'm going to continue this or not. Right now it's marked as complete, but if I get enough requests (or, really, if I just feel like it), I'll write more. I sort-of-kind-of-not-really-but-maybe have a plot for this, but AVKS and TMWR come first so...if you want me to update, totally don't hold your breath.

So...that's really all I have to say. I hope this wasn't awkward or anything. This is my first time writing a blow job scene, so it might be weird. Sorry if that's the case.

See you around! You know, figuratively!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Blaine dreaded his second period the next day. He kept fumbling through his notes during the first class, as a torturous pair of glasz orbs kept flooding his vision every time he so much as _blinked_. His students could tell that something was off, but didn't say anything, as he'd forgotten to assign them homework, and they didn't want to remind him.

The bell of doom signaled both the end of class and Blaine's own personal hell descending upon him. He sat at his desk as boys filed out and different ones filed in, each in identical blue-and-red uniforms. No one broke the dress code today.

Which was why Blaine almost missed him. He'd been staring determinedly at a quiz paper as he waited for class to begin, his hazel eyes flicking up occasionally to search for the axe above his head. Finally he found him, but it was after the boy was already seated; Kurt sat there, right there, nearly within touching distance, staring at him intently with those piercing eyes.

The shrill, unforgivable bell ripped his attention away from the perfection before him and onto the task at hand. "Alright, guys, you know the drill: pull out _The Scarlet Letter_ and your highlighters." Despite the familiarity of the routine, most of the boys still groaned.

Kurt, however, already had his book out, with six different colored highlighters at the ready. He'd reread the short novel the previous night to catch up to where the class was. Much to his delight, they had reached his favorite portion of the story: Arthur Dimmesdale just agreed to flee Boston with Hester Prynne and Pearl, and was returning to the city from their counsel in the woods as he felt a barrage of sinful urges crash over him like never before.

And Kurt was ever-so-please that this discussion would be coming up right after his encounter with Mr. Anderson the day before.

When he saw that the boys were ready, Blaine called out, "Okay, themes?" A few hands shot up, including Kurt's. "Let's see...Trent?"

"Nature," the large boy replied succinctly.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the simplicity of the answer. Blaine noticed the gesture, but purposefully ignored it. "Care to expand for us, Trent?"

"Before Hester removed the A, the woods were all dark and creepy, but when she took it off, the sun shone on her and everything was bright and she looked hot again. It was like nature approved."

Blaine nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! So what is Hawthorne telling us? Nick?"

The dark-haired boy in the back check the notes he'd made in the margins of his book. "Um...that suppressing natural tendencies and living under the pressure of societal idealism is not good for humans?"

Blaine smirked. "Internet?"

Smiling sheepishly, Nick replied, "Internet."

"Whatever gets you to understand Hawthorne's awesome complexities," Blaine shrugged. "Just remember that you can't use the Internet on the exam. Anyone else?" This time only Kurt raised his hand. Blaine paused for a long moment, not wanting to look at the boy, but it was inevitable. "Yes, Kurt?"

Kurt lowered his hand and smiled intelligently at the teacher. "During his return trip to Boston, Dimmesdale found himself desiring to sin in various ways, including cursing at children and blaspheming in front of church elders. Hawthorne is telling us that allowing ourselves to feel natural—have sex, in Dimmesdale's case—will lead us to give in to more 'sinful' tendencies—and Dimmesdale's uncharacteristic glee concerning these tendencies is a message saying, 'It's okay to give in.'"

Blaine had no idea how to respond to that. He knew exactly what his student was driving at: _give in to me._ After gawking at Kurt for a conspicuous amount of time, the teacher swallowed hard and nodded. "Interesting interpretation, Kurt. Now, I want all of you to pair up and complete a theme chart for this chapter. Include quotes!"

Unsurprisingly, several students asked to be Kurt's partner, as he was one of the few who seemed to understand the nuances of the novel. The new boy ended up working with Nick, who moved his things to the front to sit beside Kurt. As the students worked, Blaine sat at his desk, grading the theme charts of the period before. A light babble, accented by an occasional barking laugh, blanketed the room, but under that Blaine heard comments most clearly directed at him.

"What's so amazing about this novel, Nick, is Hawthorne's condemnation of the Puritan society from which he was descended. His own great-great-grandfather, or something along those lines, was a Salem judge. It's like Hawthorne understood the repressiveness of such a cloistered society."

"While Hawthorne doesn't necessarily glorify sexual promiscuity, he doesn't condemn it, which is an important point to remember."

"I think if this story were to be written in a modern context, an analogous plot line would be a teacher having sex with a student."

Blaine nearly choked on the sip of coffee he had been taking when he heard that. He gawked at the pair of students in front of his desk. Nick was intently scrawling on his sheet, but Kurt winked at his flustered teacher above his book.

The bell rang, and Blaine could not have been happier. The boys shuffled out, dropping their completed theme charts on the corner of Blaine's desk. Kurt melted into the crowd exiting the classroom, not even sparing a haughty smirk for his teacher.

During the next class period, the same routine played out: quick discussion of themes, partner up, theme charts. As the pairs worked, Blaine read over his second period's work.

When he reached Kurt's paper, he nearly passed out. In the middle of the page, the boy had affixed a hot pink Post-It note with a simple message on it.

_Third floor.  
>Room 3H.<br>6 sharp.  
>Come alone.<em>

Blaine stared at the tiny fluorescent square like a train wreck he just couldn't look away from. There, in his hands, he held physical proof of the end of his career—of his _life_.

He knew what he had to do. He had to shred the tiny piece of paper into tinier pieces of paper and wash them down the drain, permanently erasing all evidence of his one-time—and one-time only—indiscretion. He had so crumple it up and dunk it in his coffee. He had to utterly destroy it, eliminating its entire existence.

So he slipped it in the pocket of his sports coat.

* * *

><p>When the final bell rang, Blaine nodded his assent to the boys who wanted to hang out in his room. He had three hours until he had to be in Kurt's dorm room—no, until he had to be as far away from Kurt's dorm room as humanly possible—so he graded his last period's theme charts and a few last-minute essays. That task should have taken him only an hour and a half at most, but the Warblers had already been practicing for over an hour by the time he finished; his wild, erratic thoughts prevented him from focusing on any one topic for too long.<p>

When he scribbled the last _B+_ on an essay, he glanced at the clock: five-fifteen. All the boys had left the room. His lessons were already planned for the next few days, and he was up-to-date on grading. He should just go home; there was nothing for him here. He could finally start reading that Grisham novel the AP English Literature and Composition professor kept recommending to him, and there was a glass of scotch with his name on it waiting in the cupboard. Or perhaps he could make another valiant attempt at the short story he was writing, despite having already given up on it a good ten or so times. Or maybe he would just retire early and catch up on the sleep he most certainly did not get the night before.

Before he could make up his mind, it was nearly twenty to six. Twenty minutes to get the hell out of dodge. Twenty minutes to prevent the biggest mistake of his young life. Twenty minutes to run.

He stood slowly and slung his bag over his shoulder. He halfheartedly adjusted the haphazard piles of papers on his desk, and then shrugged and took his keys out of his pocket. He switched off all the lights and left his classroom, locking the door behind him.

He knew where he had to go: the teacher's parking lot. That was on the east side of campus. His traitorous feet, however, took him west, toward student dorms. Miraculously, no one spotted him as he exited the main building, crossed a small courtyard, and entered the dormitories. There was no one in the richly decorated but predictably cluttered common room. That's when Blaine remembered the lacrosse game scheduled for six o'clock that night. Dalton boasted one of the best lacrosse teams in the state, so game were school-encompassing events, much like Warbler performances. No one was around to gawk awkwardly at him because they were all in the sports complex behind the school.

Like a zombie, Blaine made his way to the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor. The entire ride up, an alarmingly loud voice in his head kept yelling, "NO NO NO NO NO!" He almost listened to it and rode the elevator back down to the ground level, but a tinier, malicious voice sneered, "You know you want this."

Then the metal doors slid open and Blaine was ghosting forward, magically finding himself in front of Room 3H. He lifted a shaking hand to knock twice on the wood. Not three seconds later, it creaked open, and the person on the other side made Blaine gasp.

Kurt was dressed from head to toe in black leather. His pants clung to his mile-long legs like a second skin. A tight tank top did nothing to shield his rippling muscles. His form-fitting jacket, ripped in all the right places, hid his delectable arms. Kurt's hair had been irresistibly mussed, no longer coiffed to perfection. The only unsurprising aspect of Kurt's appearance was the smirk that lit up his haughty face.

"Mr. Anderson!" he exclaimed lightly, feigning surprise at his teacher's presence. "How lovely for you to stop by! Please, come in." Then, without warning, Kurt grabbed Blaine by the buttons of his shirt and dragged him into the room, crashing their lips together and kicking the door shut behind them. After a passionate moment, he shoved the teacher away, locking the door with an even wider smirk. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Blaine looked confused. "How do I...what?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Do you want to top or bottom? Personally, I like to top, but..." He slunk closer to Blaine, teasingly walking his fingers up and down Blaine's shuddering throat. "...something tells me that there's an animal in there just _waiting _to let loose and take control."

It was almost as if Kurt's verbal recognition of this part of Blaine brought it to life. With a feral growl, the older man seized the younger by the straps of his tank top and threw him onto the bed. He then climbed on top, immediately grinding his half-hard cock into Kurt's own.

Kurt groaned. "Fuck _yes_. Let go, Blaine. Control me."

Blaine ripped the leather jacket from Kurt's shoulders, not even trying to be tender. He ran his hand along the smooth porcelain skin of Kurt's bare arms, and then bit down animally on the crook of his neck. "That's _Mr. Anderson_ to you, Kurt," he snarled. He hands twisted in the hem of Kurt's leather tank top and yanked it upward, breaking contact with the boy's skin only momentarily. He threw the garment across the room, not even caring where it landed. Then he sat back, admiring the way Kurt was stretched out before him, eyes wide and dark with unmistakable lust.

Blaine slid of the bed and crossed over to the bureau, ignoring Kurt's whines of protest. He threw open drawers, rifling through their contents, until at last he found what he was looking for. When he turned back to face Kurt, he held four ties in his hands. Two were Dalton-issued blue-and-red striped, one was black, and one was hot pink. He made his way back to Kurt, and used the two Dalton ties to bind the boy's hands to the top two posters of the bed. Then, straddling Kurt's legs, he slowly unlatched his impossibly tight leather pants and stripped them off of the boy. He groaned when he discovered that Kurt was not wearing boxers.

Kurt gasped at the relief of the pressure that the constricting leather had put on his achingly hard cock. When his pants were fully removed, he stretched his legs, allowing his teacher to fasten the remaining ties to his ankles, which he then wrapped around the posts at the foot of the bed. Unable to use his hands, he whimpered at the lack of contact. "_Mr. Anderson_," he seethed. "_Touch me._"

Blaine smirked. "Not yet." He sat back on his haunches, his fingers beginning to unbutton his shirt—his sports coat already laying forgotten on the floor—one agonizing button at a time. "Do you know what you did to me? How long of a cold shower I took when I got home? The number of tissues I went through last night? The thoughts that raced through my mind all day? No, I'm going to make you suffer, just like you made me suffer _all day_." By the time he finished, his shirt was open, and in the next moment, discarded on the floor. Kurt moaned piteously, desperate to run his fingers through the thick trail of dark hair that started below the waistband of his jeans and crawled upward. He jerked against his ties momentarily, growling at the self-satisfied smirk that grew on Blaine's face.

Blaine bent down, careful not to touch Kurt's throbbing member, and whispered roughly into the boy's ear, "I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll _crawl_ into class tomorrow." Then he leaned back and whipped his belt out of the loops, clawing at his own zipper until his jeans were off. "Condom," he barked out, slipping out of his boxers.

Temporarily distracted by the utter hardness of Blaine's cock, Kurt nodded. "Nightstand." Blaine reached over, purposefully brushing Kurt's cock with his own, and opened the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. He drizzled some of the cold liquid onto his fingers. Not bothering to warm it up, he pressed the tip of his finger to Kurt's puckered entrance, eliciting a keening whine from the boy. "You want this?" he murmured, increasing the pressure on the skin there. When Kurt nodded, he slid his finger in to the knuckle. Kurt's tight heat surrounded was fucking _unbelievable_. Kurt groaned obscenely, and the sound prompted Blaine to pull his finger out and shove it back in, the middle one beside it. He scissored his fingers, stretching Kurt wide and grinning at the moans that ripped from the boy's throat. Another finger, and Kurt was ready. Blaine tore into the condom like an animal, quickly covering his painfully hard member, and slicked it up with cold lube, hissing softly at the temperature change.

Then, with an evil smirk, Blaine covered Kurt's body with his own. He exerted just enough pressure onto the boy below him to cause him to thrash, but not enough to offer any kind of relief. His head twisted down to suck a deep, thick bruise on the underside of Kurt's chin. Then with no warning, he jerked his hips back and slammed them into Kurt. The younger boy screamed with pain and pleasure, his legs fighting the ties to wrap around Blaine's waist.

Blaine bottomed out and held himself there, fully sheathed in Kurt's heat. He locked eyes with the boy below him, and the fire there nearly sent him over the edge. Steadying his hands on either side of Kurt's shoulders, Blaine pulled out almost all the way before jerking forward again. "_Fuck, _Blaine," Kurt groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head. "I need you to _touch_ me."

Biting down on Kurt's ear, Blaine growled, "_No_. _You're going to come from my dick and my dick only_." Then he began fucking into Kurt as hard as he could, slamming into him again and again until he finally found the little nub of pleasure that caused Kurt's back to arch off of the tangled sheets and a keen to ring out from his debauched mouth.

The painful coil of heat right below his navel was killing him. Blaine could feel himself about to come, and he used the energy to slam hard one more time into Kurt's prostate. With a positively _filthy_ moan, Kurt came in long spurts between their chests. The clenching of Kurt's muscles around his shuddering dick sent Blaine over the edge, and he collapsed on top of Kurt.

For a long while, they panted together wordlessly, exchanging a groan-inducing kiss when the heat cropped back up. Blaine felt his cock trying to harden again, so he rolled off of Kurt and spread out on his back, still trying to catch his breath.

"Well," Kurt finally breathed. "That was fun."

And then it hit him. _I just had actual, penetrative sex with a student._ Blaine leapt off of the bed and began to scramble for his clothes, wincing when he had to retrieve his boxers from atop Kurt's math homework. He dressed as carefully as he could while moving at mach two, because if he left the students' dormitories looking like he'd just had sex, he'd be done for.

The whole time he rearranged his clothes, he was babbling. "Oh my God, oh my God, I'm _so sorry_, Kurt, I just—I can't—dear Jesus, you're a _student, _and I'm your _teacher_, and this is eight different kinds of illegal, and I could be fucking _arrested _for this, for_get_ my _job_—and you! You're just a kid—"

"I'm seventeen," Kurt interjected lazily.

But Blaine wasn't listening. "This damn _shirt_—but we can't—this never happened, okay? Never happened. We never had sex, you never—dear God—you never _blew me_, and we aren't anything more than two people who occupy the same room for an hour a day. That's it. Oh God, I have to go." He snatched his bag from the floor and made to bolt.

"WAIT!" Blaine froze, and slowly turned to face Kurt. The boy's face was hard and unfeeling, though his eyes betrayed his true emotions: fear and pain. "I'm still tied up."

Blaine's own eyes blew wide, and for a moment he didn't move. Then he rushed back over to Kurt and made quick work of the knots that bound him to the bed posts. After untying each one, he rubbed his fingers gently over the angry red marks there. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. It'll never happen again."

"What if I want it to?" Blaine looked up at Kurt, startled. The broken eyes now blazed with a stubborn fire. "What if I don't want you to just disappear, for us to go back to '_two people who occupy the same room for an hour a day_'? _What if I want you?_"

_No no no no no_. "Kurt—what—?"

Kurt's hands flew to the back of Blaine's neck and pulled him down for a searing kiss. For a moment, things made sense.

Until Blaine ripped his face away and mumbled, "I can't, I'm sorry," before rushing out of the rooming, leaving a confused and hurt seventeen-year-old in his wake.

* * *

><p>So, it's been, like, months since I've updated. Whoops. I've been really fucking busy, and that's pretty much the only apology I'm going to offer, because, what else is there to say?<p>

So, smut. Hope you liked it. Whatever that really means. I did spend a long time on it, so it's not like I have you a BS chapter or anything. I have a vague idea where this is going to go, so I'm not going away.

As always, check out my other stuff on my profile if you are so inclined.

TUMBLR IS klainebowsandquirrelmort.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Blaine didn't even remember the drive home. One moment, he was tossing his satchel into the back seat of his run-down sedan, and the next he was unlocking his apartment door. He dropped everything, bag, keys, and jacket, onto the floor and collapsed on the nearby couch.

_What the actual _hell_, Anderson?_

Refusing to even think about the deep shit he'd just gotten himself into, Blaine stood up and fixed himself a drink—and then a second, and then a third. As he downed his fourth, he decided that he was sufficiently smashed enough to sit down and watch television like any normal man would. He wouldn't think about the fact that tomorrow was Friday, or that he actually had to teach in class the next day, or that less than an hour prior he was thrusting his dick into the ass of one of his students. Nope, he would just sit there and watch reruns of bad sitcoms all night.

Until he fell asleep.

And with sleep came dreams.

All sorts of dreams, each with a common theme: Kurt. More specifically, Kurt and sex. Fucking Kurt over his desk, Kurt fucking _him _over his desk, Kurt giving him road head on the way to school, Kurt tied up in his bed. Each dream melted into the next right before dream-Blaine could climax. By the time Blaine's phone woke him up for work, he was rock-hard.

So he jerked off in the shower. What else was a man supposed to do? It sure as hell wasn't going to go away on its own, and he obviously couldn't walk into a class full of teenage boys with morning wood. And yes, so he thought about Kurt as his hand moved faster and faster along his length. Masturbating was making him late, and he needed something to expedite the process. No one would ever have to know; after all, _thinking _wasn't illegal.

His first class passed by in a haze of group work that Blaine didn't have the energy to supervise. He just hoped that they had stayed on task the whole period. The haze evaporated when the bell rang and his second period filed in. In moments, a student, a _kid_ he had sex with not eighteen hours earlier would walk through that door and sit right in front of him, and by _God _what was he going to do?

Apparently, he didn't need to do anything. Kurt waltzed into class, chattering with Nick about their theme charts and a possible Warblers audition, not sparing a single glance for his teacher. Blaine bit his lip nervously. Kurt settled into the seat assigned from him, face not betraying a single trace of discomfort or anguish. While waiting for the rest of his students to arrive, Blaine faked bending over and reading a paper on his desk to whisper, "Um, Kurt?"

He was completely ignored. Kurt continued to flip idly through his copy of _The Scarlet Letter, _not even flinching when Blaine spoke. Blaine tried again. "Kurt, can I—" The bell rung, cutting across Blaine's request for a meeting after class, and the teacher straightened up, greeting his class with a strained smile. He was about to instruct the students to break into their theme chart partner groups, but completely abandoned his lesson plan without thinking it through.

"So what do you guys think of Mr. Dimmesdale?"

The class seemed confused. "What do you mean, Mr. A?" Trent called from the back.

"What do you think of him? Is he a good guy? A scumbag? Funny? Boring? Someone to root for? The bad guy? Tell me what you think."

"I kinda feel bad for him," Jeff said quietly. Blaine grinned and gestured for Jeff to continue. "I mean, I know Hester's the one who's got it really bad: she has to wear the A, and no one talks to her, and she has to raise a kid by herself and all, but...Mr. Dimmesdale has to suffer in silence. He can't tell anyone about what he did, and he clearly still has feelings for Hester. He can't even get to know his own daughter. And all the guilt's eating away at him, and he's hurting himself because of it. I just feel bad for the guy."

Blaine nodded, impressed. "Very good assessment, Jeff. Anyone else?"

Wes raised his hand, and when Blaine motioned to him, he said, "I think he brought it on himself."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, in today's day and age, yeah, what he and Hester are going through would be kind of ridiculous. The church would be pissed, but honestly, the church has bigger things to worry about. But back then, he knew the culture. He was the one who slept with Hester, he was the one who knocked her up. I'm not saying she's any less culpable for the baby, but...none of this would have happened if he didn't just keep it in his pants." The class chuckled at Wes's choice of phrasing, and Blaine allowed them a few seconds of amusement before responding.

"So you think Jeff shouldn't feel sympathetic toward Mr. Dimmesdale's plight?"

"No more than we should toward Hester's. And the guy shouldn't be whipping himself, either. That's just stupid, and people are going to catch on."

"Excellent opinion, Wes." Blaine desperately wanted Kurt to say something, but it didn't seem like he was going to ever speak in Blaine's presence again.

Then Nick asked, "What do you think of him, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine started, unprepared for the question. He thought about his opinion of Mr. Dimmesdale—_okay, Blaine, let's get real, your opinion of _yourself—for a long moment. "I think Mr. Dimmesdale's confused. I think he loves Hester, a lot more than even he knows, and I think that's confusing the hell out of him. I think he doesn't regret sleeping with Hester. I don't think he even regrets fathering Pearl. I think he regrets the situation that he put them both in, though. I think that more than anything, he wishes things could be different." A tiny seed of hope bloomed in Blaine's chest as he noticed Kurt still as he spoke, obviously listening. He pressed on, praying his point got across to the boy. "I think that, if Mr. Dimmesdale could change things, he would never be a pastor, and Hester would never have married Chillingworth, and they would be together forever. I think that the fact that this can never be reality is utterly destroying Mr. Dimmesdale inside.

"So yeah, I feel bad for the guy. I feel bad for Hester. I think the situation sucks. What Mr. Dimmesdale and Hester did was wrong, and maybe Dimmesdale should have taken more responsibility for his actions and their consequences, namely Pearl. But more than anything, I think Dimmesdale wishes things were different."

The room fell silent as the boys ruminated over this. Blaine's eyes traveled the room, but the flicked back to Kurt's face often. It seemed the young man was stewing over Blaine's masked plea for forgiveness, and judging by the small smile Kurt was clearly trying to fight, he was at least considering granting him that.

Blaine changed the subject by giving a quick summation of his originally planned lecture, and then the bell rang. As the boys filed out of the room, Kurt paused by Blaine's desk. The two shared a fraction of a glance, and then Kurt was gone.

But it was a start.

* * *

><p>Okay, I know, it's a super-short update. I'm sorry, especially since it's the only thing I've given you since April. But the good news is that I have each chapter of this fic planned out, so writing should be easier from now on. This fic will have eleven chapters and an epilogue. Yay for planning!<p>

I'm also sorry if you haven't read TSL and couldn't follow along. I hoped I explained everything well enough. A short summary: Mr. Dimmesdale is a pastor in colonial Salem, Massachusetts. He met Hester Prynne, whose husband was still in England, and they had sex. Hester got pregnant, and everyone knew she committed adultery, so SCANDAL. She wouldn't tell anyone who the father was, and had to go live by herself with the baby, Pearl. Eventually her husband comes, and shit goes down, but that's all you really need to know for this story.

I love you all, and hope you aren't too angry with the lack of updates! Peace out!

**PERSONAL TUMBLR: **klainebowsandquirrelmort  
><strong>FANFICTION TUMBLR: <strong>kqwriting


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Come Monday, Kurt had given Blaine no indication that he'd moved past the rushed departure Thursday evening, save the small glance they'd shared at the end of class on Friday. The predominant, rational portion of Blaine's mind told him to just let things be, that Kurt clearly didn't want to speak of their encounter ever again, that things would just go back to normal. But the annoyingly persistent growl from the back told him that he needed to set things right.

Which would, of course, require talking to the boy one-on-one.

On Tuesday, Blaine handed back the students' theme charts from the week before. He purposefully kept Kurt's at the bottom of the pile, so it landed on the boy's desk last. Kurt didn't acknowledge Blaine's presence when he laid the paper down, but Blaine noticed the way the boy's eyebrows shot upward when he noticed the yellow Post-It note affixed to the sheet. _Will you meet me to talk? _Just as Blaine sat down at his own desk, Kurt's eyes flickered up momentarily, nodding surreptitiously at the teacher. Blaine couldn't hide the pleased grin that took over his face; Kurt clearly didn't hate him _that _much.

When the bell signaled the end of second period, Kurt hung back, waiting for his classmates to exit before approaching Blaine's desk. "Where do you want to talk?"

"The Lima Bean? It's a coffee place over in Lima. I know it's kind of far, but..."

Kurt actually smiled at this. "No, I know the place. I'm from Lima, so..." He trailed off awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Five good?"

Blaine smiled in a way that he hoped was reassuring. "Five's perfect. See you then, Kurt."

For a moment, a turbulence of emotion stirred behind Kurt's mysteriously colored eyes, but before Blaine could discern its meaning, a wall of fake happiness blocked his view. "See you then, Bl—Mr. Anderson."

And then Kurt was gone.

His third period arrived mere moments later, and Blaine leaned back in his chair as he waited for the stragglers. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted out of this conversation with Kurt, but he knew that if the excitement for the meeting didn't kill him, the fear certainly would.

* * *

><p>The final bell rang at three, and Blaine was out the door within ten minutes, taking the time only to ensure he had the papers he needed to grade in his briefcase and to apologetically tell his usual after-school crew that they'd have to hang out elsewhere for the day. He sped west in his rusty sedan toward Lima. The Lima Bean was a popular Warbler haunt, despite being nearly two hours away from the school, but Blaine didn't fear being caught by one of the choir boys due to scheduled practice. He pulled into the cafe parking lot at quarter before five, but didn't get out of the car. He rested his head against the steering wheel and took deep, calming breaths. "Get a grip, Anderson," he muttered. "You're having coffee with a student. That's it. You're having coffee and you're laying down boundaries. End of story."<p>

He exited the vehicle and made his way into the Lima Bean. His eyes immediately scanned the fairly empty cafe for Kurt, but unfortunately—_or fortunately?_—didn't find him. The line at the counter had only one person before him, so he quickly ordered and received his medium drip before choosing a more secluded table at the back of the shop. There he spun the cup around his hands, staring at anything but the front door. He refused to look at his watch, preferring to remain ignorant as to whether Kurt was early, on time, or late.

Eventually, though, a second cup, a large, appeared across from his, and suddenly Kurt was there, face stoic. "I'm here. Talk."

Mouth inexplicably dry, Blaine took a long sip from his coffee before beginning. "Thanks for coming. How was the drive?"

Kurt's eyebrow shot upward. "The drive? Really? That's what you wanted to talk about? Because I was under the impression that you wanted to discuss the aftermath of you tying me to my bed and fuck—"

"Okay!" Blaine half-shouted, quickly checking the nearest patrons to make sure no one reacted to Kurt's statement. "Yes. I wanted to t-talk...about Thursday."

"I'm up for a repeat if you are."

"Wh-what? No!" This conversation wasn't going at all the way Blaine intended. _Man up, Anderson. _He took a deep breath. "Okay. Kurt. What happened on Thursday...I'm not going to lie. That was the best sex of my life." He honestly didn't know what to make of the self-satisfied smirk that crossed Kurt's face. "I...let go of all my inhibitions, and I released them on you, and...I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Kurt didn't answer for a long moment, and Blaine began to panic. "...No, you didn't hurt me. Though I will admit, when I thought you were going to leave me tied up...I was scared." His pale face flushed in embarrassment, but that was quickly eclipsed by hardness once more.

Blaine needed a frying pan with which to beat himself over the head. "God, K-Kurt, I'm...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Jesus, I never meant for _any _of this to happen."

"It's my fault." That surprised Blaine, and it seemed to surprise Kurt, too. "I came on to you, really, _really _strong, and...I'm sorry."

_I've never seen anyone make contrition look so beautiful—Christ, Anderson, shut the hell up. _"Listen to me, Kurt. _None _of this is your fault. I know you don't want to hear this, but you're still a kid."

"I'm seventeen! That's past the age of consent."

"Yes, I know, but I'm still your teacher, an authority figure in your life. And I know you respect authority figures, because you're one of the most gifted students I've ever taught." Blaine refused to allow himself to enjoy the way Kurt blushed ever-so-slightly at the compliment. "I don't care that we could both consent to what happened. I'm your teacher, you're my student, and it _shouldn't_ have happened. I should have stopped thing with the—the blow-job on Wednesday, but I didn't, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry I've made things awkward."

Kurt looked like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to say _something_, something that Blaine couldn't fathom, but instead he nodded shallowly. He then picked up his large coffee and took a long drink, eyes purposefully avoiding Blaine's.

Of course, that didn't matter, because Blaine's eyes were fully trained on the way Kurt's lips moved against the lid and the way Kurt's hand gripped the cup and _oh my god, Anderson, you need to stop this now._

"We need some ground rules," Blaine blurted out, earning a questioning look from Kurt. "I obviously don't have very many ground rules with my other students, but then..." _...other students don't make me feel the way you do. _Blaine could see by Kurt's downcast eyes that his meaning was clear. "So, one. No more notes in class, from either you or me. We need to communicate, we do so verbally, and preferably in the presence of others." Kurt nodded. "Two, no more contact outside of the classroom. After we leave here today, we only see each other _inside_ my classroom. Okay?"

Kurt was _clearly_ not okay with this. "That's not fair. Lots of teachers have out-of-school meetings with their students. Even what we're doing now isn't completely out of the ordinary. Besides, tomorrow I have an audition with the Warblers. You're the faculty advisor, right?" Blaine nodded. "So we'll be going to competitions together."

"That's an obvious exception to the rule, the Warblers, but this? Coffee? Meeting outside, one-on-one? No Kurt. It ends now.

"Three...we don't speak of what happened. Ever. It remains a secret between you and me, and we carry it to our graves. Or at least until you've graduated and I no longer work at Dalton."

Kurt worried his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes stayed glued to the tabletop, but Blaine could see them shine. "Are you—" Kurt cleared his throat, embarrassed by the shaky voice. "Are you... _ashamed _of what happened?" His eyes flickered upward briefly, returning to the table after seeing Blaine's horrified expression.

"K-Kurt." Blaine's own voice broke. "Kurt, _no. _God, no. I'm...I'm ashamed that I failed you as a teacher, but I'm not ashamed what happened. You gave me a short while where...everything made sense." Kurt's head snapped up at this, shock coloring his face. "I don't know what you are or where you come from, but you brought this light into my world that made the darkness seem a little less...well, dark." Bewildered by his own confession, Blaine covered his face with his coffee cup, drowning his feelings in the medium drip.

For a long while, no one spoke. They sat together, studiously contemplating their drinks. "I'm from here." Blaine turned back to the teenager when he spoke. "I used to go to McKinley High School. It's about a mile or so up the road from here. I transferred..." He swallowed thickly, and Blaine waited for him to continue. "I transferred because the bullying got too bad for me to stay. I was the only out kid, and there was...well, there was this one guy who made it his mission in life to make my life suck, and even though that seemed to be the mission of every jock on campus, he was particularly dedicated to the cause. We're talking tosses into the dumpster, shoves into lockers, slushies to the face. But the worst part..." Kurt trailed off, and flashbacks of Blaine's own high school torment clouded his vision, dispersing only when Kurt spoke again. "The worst part was never knowing when it was coming. I lived in a constant state of fear, and I was miserable twenty-four/seven.

"And then one day..." Kurt let out a bitter laugh. "Then one day I decided to stand up for myself. Karofsky—that was the guy's name—he shoved me down, and I ran after him into the boys' locker room. I yelled at him, and the next thing I know, he's kissing me. He kissed me, and then he ran off, and...I don't even remember the rest of that day. All I know is that my first kiss with a boy was with an asshole I hated."

Blaine's heart shattered as Kurt told his story. "Kurt...oh my _god_...I'm so—"

"It didn't end there. For the next few weeks, out of nowhere, he'd grab me, drag me into an empty classroom or hallway or something, press me against the wall, kiss me until I couldn't breathe or scream or move, tell me—" His deadened voice choked up for a fraction of a second. "—tell me that if I told anyone he'd kill me, and then he'd disappear. I was more terrified than ever before, and it started to show. My grades were slipping, I stopped participating in glee club, I couldn't sleep at night so I'd fall asleep in class...Eventually my dad made me tell him what was going on. I gave him a _very_ abridged version of the turn of events—basically, just that the bullying had gotten worse—and he moved me to Dalton. Simple as that."

Blaine was speechless. He wanted nothing more in that moment—hell, in his entire life—than to gather Kurt in his arms, rock him back and forth, press kisses into his hair and face and lips, and assure him beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything was going to be okay. That he was safe. That he was loved.

But he couldn't. Because he was a teacher and Kurt was a student and they'd already slept together and hell he couldn't find the line with a map and a compass because he'd crossed it so fucking long ago and why did this _hurt _so much?

He stretched his hand across the table to cover Kurt's, but the younger man jumped back and stood. "I've—I've got to go. I understand your terms, Mr. Anderson. I don't like them, but I understand them. I'll see you in class tomorrow." And then he rushed off, leaving a very confused AP Lang teacher in his wake.

* * *

><p>Well, here you go! Chapter four! Hope you enjoyed it! A little Kurt backstory, not quite canon, but alas, that will become important later on. Spoilers!<p>

So, the Olympics! Best wishes to ALL THE NATIONS! Not to brag or anything (especially because this involves me in, like, no way), but one of the US Olympians goes to my church.

YES I GO TO CHURCH. THAT WORLD IS ENTIRELY SEPARATE FROM THIS WORLD. YOUR JUDGEMENT IS NOT APPRECIATED.

As always, much love you, my homeskilletz. But the most love of all goes to the I-think-he-was-Spanish-but-I-can't-quite-remember Olympian who marched in the Parades of Nations with a pink wig. YOU WERK BBY.

Alison, I hope you found this chapter appropriately tickety boo.

**PERSONAL TUMBLR: **klainebowsandquirrelmort  
><strong>FANFICTION TUMBLR: <strong>kqwriting


End file.
